Hive.
That was the only concept Zheng Qing could think of.
Originally, there had only been a single mirror in front of him. But after it shattered, every fragment became a new mirror, surrounding him from the front, back, diagonally ahead, and diagonally behind, forming a hexagonal enclosed space.
Like a beehive.
Beneath his feet was a blackish-gray floor, above his head a grayish-white ceiling. Other than that, mirrors were everywhere around him.
Zheng Qing tried to walk around the mirror in front of him, only to discover that he had merely gone from one "hive" into another. That made him realize these "hives" had formed a vast mirror maze.
He cautiously retraced his steps, yet always felt that the "hive" he returned to was not the one he had originally left.
That intense sense of distortion was maddening.
But even more maddening were the reflections in the mirrors.
Every mirror contained a "Zheng Qing," along with other mirrors and the "Zheng Qings" inside them. Every "Zheng Qing" looked real—some were dejected, curled up at the base of their mirrors and pretending to sleep; some were furious, waving rune guns and shouting; some had spread out brush, ink, paper, and inkstone on the floor, drawing talismans on the spot; others held spellbooks and muttered incantations, seemingly trying to use magic to save themselves from this chaos.
Even more "Zheng Qings" were arguing.
Because each of them wanted to prove that he was real, and the others were fake:
"I'm real!"
"I'm the real one! You're fake!"
"I'm real! This ahoge, see it? This one right here—do you have one?!"
"Everyone has an ahoge! This pimple only appeared this morning... It's because I stayed up late during last night's patrol!"
"You're all fake... I'm the real one! My rune gun bears